


Toss a Line, My Love, I'm Drowning Already

by cavedinwriter



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fix-It, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Kinda, M/M, Mutual Pining, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other characters will probably show up, Rating May Change, Slow Burn, episode 6 fix-it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:01:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22340728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cavedinwriter/pseuds/cavedinwriter
Summary: That evening on the mountain, after Borch died, what would've happened if Geralt said yes? What would've happened if they went to the coast together? Let's find out.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 33
Kudos: 366





	1. Giving Up Is Not A Crime

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter title from Half Your Age by Joywave.   
> This is my first(of likely many) geraskier fics! Hope you enjoy.

It was dusk, and Jaskier was watching from afar as Geralt sat on a rock towards the edge of the mountain. He hadn’t spoken a word since Borch fell off the mountain. That in itself wasn’t unusual, but his silence felt different. Pained, instead of contented. Jaskier let out a soft sigh and pushed himself to his feet, treading as softly as he could and setting himself on the rock beside Geralt. Geralt turned his head slightly as he approached, just to see who it was, but didn’t give any other acknowledgement that he was there. That, again, wasn’t unusual, but it also wasn’t unusual how it stung a little.

Jaskier thought about reaching out a hand and placing it on Geralt’s shoulder, but it wouldn’t go over well, that he knew. So he kept his hands folded in his lap, swallowing a few times before managing to speak. He kept his voice low, soft, as though not to disturb the quiet.

“You did your best. There’s nothing else you could’ve done,” He said. Geralt’s head twitched slightly but he still didn’t turn. Jaskier licked his lips and tried again, “Why don’t we leave tomorrow? That is, if you’ll give me another chance to prove myself a… worthy travelling companion.” He tried not to let too much emotion leak into his words, but failed. They tasted bitter as they came out of his mouth.

“Hmm.” Geralt said with a slight nod, and Jasker wasn’t sure if it was agreement or acknowledgement or something else, but he was elated to have any sort of response.

“We could head to the coast, get away for awhile? Sounds like something Borch would say, doesn’t it? Life is too short,” It was hope, now, bleeding into his voice, ugly hope that came from the slightest line that Geralt threw him, even though he was still fully expecting rejection, “Do what pleases you… while you can.” His voice was only a whisper now.

“Composing your next song.” Came the low rumble from beside him. Jaskier felt as though he should laugh, or sing, as if he were indeed composing instead of pouring his heart out to only the man next to him. But instead, he looked down.

“No, I’m just, uh… just trying to work out what pleases me.” He said. He could feel the tears threatening at the corners of his eyes as Geralt said nothing, moved not a muscle, barely even breathing. Jaskier was about to get up and walk away as quickly as he could manage without looking suspicious so he could go cry somewhere private. Then, Geralt did it again, throwing him a line of hope where he really shouldn’t.

“Why?” Geralt said, still not turning to face him.

“Why, why what, Geralt?” Jaskier said. He couldn’t tell if his courage was leaving or if more was entering him but he felt dizzy.

“Why should we leave.”

“Like I said, work out what pleases us,”  _ Us, _ oh that felt far too intimate, time to backtrack, “I mean, you obviously need a break. Could be nice, you know, no monsters, just…” Just the two of us, he wanted to say. But he couldn’t.

Geralt was silent again, and Jaskier felt his nerve slip away entirely.

“Nevermind,” he choked, standing up unsteadily, “I know you don’t-” A hand gripped his shoulder, keeping him in place.

“Okay.”

“What?” Jaskier said weakly. And, gods, if he’d been unsteady before his knees were about to buckle now because Geralt was facing him, yellow eyes glinting in the dying sunlight, staring into Jaskier’s own eyes and searching for something.

“Okay. You want a chance to prove yourself, fine. But we’re doing it on my terms.” He said. Geralt let go of his shoulder, and it took everything Jaskier had to stay standing. He sank down onto the rock once again to hide his shakiness.

“Alright, yes, of course! But uh… what are those terms, exactly?” In his mind, he couldn’t help but think  _ of course _ out of all of that, Geralt would stick onto Jaskier proving himself useful somehow. 

“We’ll get moving at dawn. First town we reach, we get you a dagger.”

“What!” Jaskier shrieked, all caution thrown to the wind for a moment. Geralt raised an eyebrow and for a second everything felt normal between them, “Geralt, I don’t know how to fight!”

“Exactly,” Geralt said, a smirk pulling at his lips. He stood up, letting out a grunt as he straightened his back, “I won’t always be able to protect you.”

“So you want help, is what you’re saying.” Jaskier grinned.

“Hm.” Geralt started walking past him.

“I’ll take that as a yes!” Jaskier called triumphantly.

“Bold.” Geralt shot back over his shoulder.

“Right,” Jaskier said, still grinning, “Good talk.”

He was still grinning as he watched Geralt walk up the mountain, over to their bedrolls- wait, no, he was turning left instead of right, where was he going? The grin slid off his face in an instant as he realized that Geralt was going to Yennefer’s tent. His good mood had already been precarious and was now turned sour as Geralt lifted the flap and went inside. Jaskier bit his lip and all but stormed off to his bedroll.

Sometime later, in fact sooner than Jaskier expected, he heard footsteps approach and then a grunt as Geralt sat down on his bedroll beside him. Jaskier pointedly kept his back turned.

“Jaskier.”

“What?”

“Why haven’t you packed up yet? If we leave at dawn, we should be ready. The less time for questions, the better.

“Wh-” Jaskier sat up, “But I thought-” Geralt tilted his head, no expression on his face, and Jaskier fell silent. He stood up dutifully, and the two of them packed up all of their belongings except for their blankets(And of course, Geralt kept his armor out).

Once they were done, Jaskier lay down, staring up at the now-black sky, freckled with stars. It was beautiful, but he imagined it would be even more beautiful on the coast. Even clearer, somehow, even more special with Geralt beside him. Geralt. Jaskier tilted his head slightly, watching through the corner of his eye as Geralt settled into his bed for the night.

“What were you doing in-”

“Don’t.” He growled. Jaskier shut his mouth and turned his head straight again. He couldn’t help how conflicted he felt. Geralt had agreed to come with him, effectively getting him away from Yennefer. And yet, the first thing he’d done after agreeing was go to Yennefer. He tried to push away the jealousy that was welling inside his chest. Geralt had chosen to go with him, that had to be enough. Eventually, he relaxed enough for Geralt’s steady breathing to lull him to sleep.

Geralt opened his eyes at the first sign of light. He could see it, a golden halo around the opposing mountain peaks. He sat up, stretched, and looked at Jaskier passed out beside him. The bard almost always rolled to face Geralt, never getting too close, but sometimes an arm would fling out and jerk Geralt awake. Or, he would simply wake to messy hair and a snoring face turned towards him, and it would fill him with some sort of feeling. Annoyance, probably, or at least that’s what Geralt always told himself. There was that same feeling every time the bard was near, and he had decided to label it as annoyance in all cases. To avoid anything messy.

Messy, like deciding to go with the bard to the coast on a whim. Messy, like deciding to teach him to fight. Messy, like every situation the two of them got themselves into, but somehow Geralt always felt more alive when he got them out.

He stood up with a grunt, toeing at Jaskier’s arm. Jaskier let out a sleepy grumble and blinked open his eyes. His head lolled, and he looked blearily first at Geralt, then at the sky, then back at Geralt.

“I thought you said we were leaving at dawn?” He said, his voice rough with sleep, “There’s barely even light in the sky.”

“We’re leaving at dawn. Meaning we have to be ready before dawn.”

“Ugh.” Jaskier groaned, rubbing at his eyes. Geralt turned away.

“Pack up your things.”

“Uuuugh.”

“This was your idea. I’m assuming you don’t want me to change my mind.”

“No, nonononope, no!” Jaskier exclaimed, rolling and sitting bolt upright, “No, you’re right, crack of dawn, let’s go!”

Geralt snorted. Jaskier looked up at him for an odd moment, but then continued packing his things. They were ready in a matter of minutes, their packing up the night before helping them. Geralt slung his bag onto his back and looked expectantly at Jaskier, who had his things ready and was picking up his lute.

“Ready?” He asked. Jaskier nodded, eyes bright.

Geralt cast his gaze around the camp, seeing the dwarves bundled tightly against the mountain cold. Then, there was Yennefer's tent. He was surprised when there was only a tiny pang of hurt as he turned away. Jaskier was already starting off down the path, and Geralt had to take several long strides to catch up with him. Jaskier’s steps were light and he looked much happier than he had the night before. He had his lute out and was about to strum a chord.

“The fair-” Jaskier started, but Geralt growled out a warning.

“Please, give me some peace. At least until we get out of earshot. I don’t want to wake the rest of them up.” 

“Very well.” Jaskier let out a dramatic sigh, but slung his lute back and crossed his arms as they walked. He could tell something was itching at the bard’s mind by the way he kept glancing over, opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water. But he said nothing. The silence wasn’t as blessed as Geralt liked to say. In fact, he’d grown used to Jaskier’s chatter. When they were far enough down the mountain that the other’s camps were nothing but dots and the sun had risen, Geralt looked over at Jaskier expectantly.

“Out with it.” He rumbled. Jaskier looked a little surprised.

“Um. It’s nothing.”

“It’s never nothing with you.” Geralt said. 

“Really, it’s nothing.” Jaskier looked away.

“This silence is uncharacteristic of you.”

“I figured it would be welcome.” Jaskier said with a frown. Geralt grunted.

“As did I. But I suppose it’s not what I signed up for when I said yes, is it?”

“Suppose not.” Jaskier said, falling silent for only a moment before pulling his lute into his arms. He plucked out a few plaintive chords, then began trying out different strumming patterns. Some of the lyrics he was singing under his breath were ones Geralt had heard him working on during the climb up, and some were new.

The song he was piecing together was full of raw feeling in a way that most of his songs(or at least the ones Geralt heard) were not. Geralt wondered if he was simply composing like normal, or if this was his way of answering Geralt. Of course he knew it had to be the former, but his mind wouldn’t stop searching for meaning in the snippets that Jaskier sang aloud.

Lending credence to his curiosity was the fact that he was being so quiet, even singing. Usually he belted out his lyrics with not a care in the world for who could hear. But now, as they wound their way down the mountain, Geralt could only catch every few words. 

“I’m weak my love, and I am wanting.” That was one phrase that he caught in its entirety. Jaskier’s voice broke on the word ‘weak’, and it sent a flash of something through Geralt. Annoyance, that had to be it still. That was the only thing he as allowed to feel in relation to the bard.

It took them the better part of the day, but they finally made it back down the mountain to where Roach was being kept. In a rare stroke of consideration, after packing their things onto Roaches back and climbing up, Geralt stretched his hand out to Jaskier.

“Get up.” He said. Jaskier looked surprised, but nevertheless accepted his hand and slung himself over the horse. Jaskier shifted himself so he was facing backwards, likely so he could play his lute without constraint.

“So, what’s our plan?” Jaskier said, leaning into Geralt.

“Coast. That’s what you said.” He could feel his words reverberating into Jaskier’s back.

“Well, yes, but neither of us specified the path we’re taking to get there. Are we going for a straight shot, or do you plan on taking jobs on the way?”

“Should probably take some if I want to teach you how to fight.”

“You can’t just throw me into battle, Geralt!” He said indignantly.

“Why not? Best way to improve.” Geralt joked. Of course, it didn’t sound like a joke, it carried the same even tone of everything he said.

“Best way to die!” Jaskier jabbed him gently with an elbow. Geralt let out a small huff of laughter.

“I should take some jobs just to make sure we have coin.”

“Ah, but you forget you have me!” He could practically hear Jaskier’s grin, “I can pull my weight in terms of coin, you know.”

“I know. But perhaps I don’t want to rely on people’s opinion of you to make sure we have a roof over our heads.” He said lightly. Jaskier exaggerated a gasp from behind him, or at least, Geralt was pretty sure it was exaggerated. 

“Truly, Geralt, you should learn to be more kind to your travelling companion.  _ Especially because _ you just may have to rely on people’s opinions of me! Contrary to what you think, I’m perfectly capable of being reasonable and likeable.”

“And yet you choose not to me.”

“Precisely.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you, Geralt,” Jaskier said, elbowing him in the side, “Are ever so fun to bother. All the annoyed grunting, it’s hilarious. You know, I could write a whole song about your grunting.”

“You won’t.” Geralt growled.

“Oh, but who’s to stop me?” 

“Me. I will throw you off of Roach and go right back up that mountain.”

“You wouldn’t!” 

“Want to test?” Geralt bared his teeth in some approximation of a smirk, looking over his shoulder at the bard who stared back indignantly.

“No.” He said, pouting. Geralt huffed in triumph. 


	2. No One Beside Me But Pining

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “A Witcher, hm? What brings you here? We’ve got plenty of weapons that would suit-” The woman behind the counter began.  
> “It’s not for me,” Geralt interrupted, tossing his chin towards Jaskier, “It’s for the bard.”  
> “A weapon for the bard.” She drawled, a confused smile on her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I love writing these two. Also, give Jaskier a knife.
> 
> The chapter title is lyrics from White Frost by Tall Heights.

Jaskier leaned his head back against Geralt’s back. Normally, he’d be cautious to do such a thing, but both of them were tired and he figured he wouldn’t be snapped at. The sky was gray and drizzling slowly down upon them. The mud beneath Roach’s hooves was slick and Geralt kept her a slow pace to keep her from slipping.

Jaskier was not a fan of the rain, though he was sure Geralt was indifferent. A blank gray sky hardly ever inspired anything in him. Plus, when it rained, he couldn’t exactly sit outside playing. So he sat, limp, deflated against Geralt’s surprisingly warm back. He tapped against his lute case considering rhythms for another song.

Maybe he would try his hand at composing something inspired by the rain. Not by something as interesting as a storm. No, he had songs about storms, metaphorically and not. He’d never written about something as seemingly uninteresting as a simple drizzle. As if the universe heard his thoughts and allowed him a chance, they entered an area of dense tree cover and the rain was no longer reaching them.

As far as he could tell, they would be under cover for a while, and the day was still young. So, Jaskier pulled his lute out of his case and struck a few chords that he thought were fitting of the gray skies. Something minor, but not too dismal. A little bit of plucking to imitate the raindrops. He hummed mindlessly to himself, quietly enough that Geralt seemed not to notice even though Jaskier knew he could hear.

“Where has the sun gone? I suppose we won’t know till half past two,” He sang, and when he met no complaints from Geralt he continued, ad libbing lyrics, “I suppose that we won’t know til skies are blue, again.”

He kept humming, trying to think up more lyrics. When he had enough to constitute a decent amount of the song, he packed his lute away and scribbled it down so he wouldn’t forget. Hardly his most inspired song, but it was something new. That was what this trip was about, wasn’t it? Something new. Departing from the usual.

Jaskier let his head loll back once again, leaning a little to look over his shoulder and see forward.

“Any idea when we’re going to reach a town?” He asked. 

“Another hour or so. Maybe more.”

“Lovely.” Jaskier sighed. His legs were sore from sitting on Roach all day, he longed to get up and move. At the same time, he wanted to nap. He let the sleepy part of him overtake him and he shut his eyes.

All too soon, it felt to him, there was a jolt from behind him. He opened his eyes to see that the trees behind them were giving way to grass and dirt. He turned forward and indeed, they were coming up on a town. The jolt had come from Geralt driving an elbow into his side to wake him up, which he promptly did again.

“I’m awake! You don’t need to poke me again.” Jaskier grumbled.

“Sorry.” Geralt said, with a flash of teeth that made Jaskier sure that he was absolutely not sorry, not even a bit.

The rain was coming down harder, and now that they were out of the trees it soaked through Jaskier’s clothes which had gotten just enough time under cover to dry out. He sighed and shivered loudly, hoping that Geralt would take the hint and guide them to an inn. He did nothing of the sort, in fact, in Jaskier’s opinion he took entirely too long finding a sheltered place to tie up Roach.

When he was finally done, he started walking directly opposite to a building that looked like an inn.

“Geralt! Geralt, where are you going?” He called, walking as quickly as he could after him in the mud.

“To get you a dagger. Come on.”

“Wh-” Jaskier stopped in his tracks, “Surely that can wait until tomorrow. Or at least later, when it’s not raining? I’m freezing.” He complained. Geralt spared a glance over his shoulder.

“Then hurry up. It’ll be dry inside the shop.” He said. Jaskier sighed again, loudly, but followed.

They entered a store, and Jaskier was relieved by the warm air that blasted over them. Clearly there was a fire going somewhere in the building. A woman with long brown curls sat behind the counter, looking bored. When Geralt stepped inside, however, she perked up.

“A Witcher, hm? What brings you here? We’ve got plenty of weapons that would suit-”

“It’s not for me,” Geralt interrupted, tossing his chin towards Jaskier, “It’s for the bard.”

“A weapon for the bard.” She drawled, a confused smile on her face.

“Yes, a weapon for the bard who would very much prefer if you didn’t talk about him like he wasn’t there!” Jaskier piped up, but they ignored him.

“Just a simple dagger will do.”

“Of course. And tell me, why does the bard need a weapon?” She said. She stood up and began to walk the shelves of her store, searching.

“He insists on getting himself into trouble, so I’m going to teach him how to get himself out of it.”

“I’m  _ right here. _ ” Jaskier grumbled.

“Well, we have plenty to choose from.” The woman motioned them over to a shelf covered in a variety of daggers laying in boxes or atop pillows. Most of them were plain and uninteresting, but one on the bottom shelf caught Jaskier’s eye. It was resting on a purple satin pillow, inside of a black sheath with silver filigree detailing the hilt and part of the sheath. He gasped when he saw it.

“I like this one!” He said, picking it up and turning it over in his hands. He pulled it out of its sheath gingerly while Geralt stared, unimpressed.

“Jaskier, put it down.” He said flatly. Jaskier experimentally thrust the blade in the air. Geralt remained unphased.

“What about this one?” He asked, picking up perhaps the plainest dagger Jaskier had ever seen and turning to the woman.

“That one’s boring!” Jaskier protested. Geralt looked back at him, then at the woman who was smiling good-naturedly at both of them. She had a sort of knowing smirk on her face. 

“Fine,” Geralt rolled his eyes, “You can get the pretty one.”

“Yes!” Jaskier shouted, throwing his hands in the air. His hands, one of which was still occupied by the dagger. Perhaps that wasn’t the smartest decision. 

“Please stop waving it around.”

“Right. Sorry.” He said sheepishly, and Geralt took it from him with care and walked over to the counter to pay. He started pulling out his coin purse, but Jaskier put a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s mine, I should buy it. I have enough.” He said firmly. Geralt paused, then shook his head.

“Consider it a gift.”

“Since when does the White Wolf give gifts?” Jaskier raised his eyebrows, but said nothing more. He wasn’t about to look a gift Geralt in the knife. Gift knife in the Geralt? No, that didn’t make sense.

Nonetheless, he winced when he saw how much it was. No wonder Geralt had wanted to get him a plain one. He couldn’t help feeling a little special that Geralt didn’t even blink when he saw the cost, didn’t revoke his offer to pay, had said ‘consider it a gift’. He was an incredibly unsentimental person so it likely meant nothing, but to Jaskier it meant something.

As indifferent as he acted, Geralt was happy to get out of the rain. Happier still that due to Jaskier’s sleepiness they bypassed the tavern and went straight for the room they rented at the inn. He never enjoyed how the dampness clung to him when he rode in the rain, and he hated listening to Jaskier shivering and sneezing. Hearing him miserable was another of those inexplicable annoyances that tugged somewhere inside of him.

The light filling their room was warm and golden, making it seem homier than it was. In truth, it was a fine room, far less roach-infested than some he’d stayed in, but quite drafty. Jaskier complained of this once they had set their things down.

“Honestly, you’d think they’d put some effort into covering up drafts when we’re paying this much for one room.” He sniffed. He was hugging his arms.

“You’re just cold.”

“Maybe so, but I should be able to escape that when I come inside.”

“Get under the covers, then.” Geralt glanced at him. Jaskier opened his mouth, then thought better of it. He tossed a scowl in Geralt’s direction and made a show of climbing into his bed and pulling the covers tightly around himself.

“Happy?”

“Are  _ you _ ?” Geralt replied, then smirked. Jaskier looked ridiculous all bundled up, still fully dressed, “Do you need me to tuck you in and kiss you goodnight?”

“No, I do not, thank you Geralt.” Jaskier huffed, face flushing red.

“Hm.” Geralt snorted, and then turned to sit on his own bed. He could hear Jaskier shuffling around in his bed. 

It was late afternoon. His muscles were sore from sitting on Roach all day, and he was considering a bath. But Jaskier was likely not going to get out from under the blankets, and Geralt was used to bathing with Jaskier’s assistance. He could do it himself, of course, he wasn’t a child, but he’d be damned if it wasn’t nice to have someone else taking care of him every once in a while. He rationalized it as Jaskier doing his part, making up for all the times that Geralt protected him.

He sighed and stood up. He needed a bath, regardless of whether Jaskier was going to help. There was dirt and sweat caked on him, and he needed to get rid of it. He’d though Jaskier wasn’t paying attention but he heard an inquisitive sound as he started to leave the room.

“Geralt, where are you going? We just got here.” Jaskier’s bright blue eyes were trained on him.

“I need a bath.” He rumbled. Jaskier sat up, blankets falling away.

“Do you want…?”

“I don’t mind. You’re cold.” Geralt started to turn away. He was about to close the door behind him when he heard footsteps behind him and a hand caught the door. Slowly he turned to face Jaskier, who had apparently forgotten the cold. Jaskier tilted his head to the side.

“A hot bath would likely do us both good.” He said nonchalantly. Geralt felt that little tug in his stomach again, the one he decided to label annoyance. Though, with each day it was getting harder and harder to justify that. Annoyance didn’t make one feel light and dizzy. Annoyance was heavy and persistent. This feeling was persistent too, but in a different way. 

“Fine.” He said, realizing he’d been standing there for far too long for it to be normal. Jaskier beamed up at him, and there was that little tug again.

The tub was full of steaming water and Jaskier had shed his doublet already, searching through Geralt’s bag for herbs and sweet-smelling oils. Geralt was stripped down to his pants and working on removing those too. When he finally peeled them off and padded over to the bath, Jaskier had fished out the chamomile oil and was holding it triumphantly.

Geralt climbed into the tub, letting out a contented grunt as the hot water hit his body. Jaskier allowed him a few glorious minutes to simply soak in the hot water before he pulled up a stool and opened the vial of chamomile oil. Immediately the heady scent of it filled the air. At Jaskier’s instruction he sat up a little straighter and let his head hang forward. Jaskier brushed his hair out of the way and then began massaging his shoulders. The first time he’d done it, Geralt had expected the bard to be far too gentle to actually work any tension out. 

Instead, his hands were strong and sure as he pressed and prodded until his muscles unwound themselves. Geralt supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised. Jaskier had been playing lute for years, and most any instrument lent itself to strong, confident hands. Jaskier’s were no exception.

Geralt suppressed the groans that were threatening to spill from his mouth as Jsskier massaged him. Jaskier pressed on a spot right beside his spine, digging a knuckle in and working it out and Geralt involuntarily let out a grunt.

“There.” He mumbled. Jaskier kept his hands in that spot until Geralt relaxed under his fingers.

When he was done, Geralt knew he was basically liquid in the bard’s hands. He leaned his head back against the tub and shut his eyes as Jaskier stood up once more. He heard the vial be put back on the table, and then the sloshing of water.

“Head up, witcher,” Jaskier quipped, “But you probably want to keep your eyes closed.” Geralt once again did as he was told. After such a nice massage, he would do most anything that Jaskier told him. It was a little pathetic, he thought to himself.

Hot water was poured suddenly over his head and he spluttered, eyes flying open as the water dripped down his face. Jaskier was sat behind him again, putting down the bucket.

“What the hell, bard.” He growled.

“Now now, your hair may not be caked in selkimore guts but it still does need a good washing.” Jaskier chided. Geralt simply grunted and let Jaskier get to work. His hands were confident as they pulled the tangles out of Geralt’s hair and ran soap through it until it was soft and shining. Yes, Geralt could bathe himself, but Jaskier always did a better job of it. Made him leave the bath not only clean, but feeling like it too.

There was that damned tugging in his gut again. He growled, sitting up straight, startling Jaskier a little.

“I’m getting out.” He said, ignoring Jaskier’s protests.

“Wh- Geralt, the water’s still warm, you don’t want to-” Jaskier said, but Geralt was already stepping out of the tub and grabbing his towel. He could feel Jaskier’s eyes on him, burning with questions, but he didn’t care. He didn’t want to put up with the annoyance building in his stomach if he didn’t have to.

Jaskier sat in confusion as a dripping Geralt walked back into their room with a towel around his waist. Had he done something wrong? Geralt usually sat in the bath for as long as he could, never minding Jaskier’s hands on him. Unless… No, that didn’t make sense. Jaskier was always very careful not to let any of his feelings bleed into his massages. He was simply doing what was asked of him.

Well, no matter. There was still more water, because Jaskier wanted a bath too. He changed the water and sank into the tub with a satisfied smile. If Geralt wanted to act strange, that was his business. And Jaskier’s business at the moment was to have a lovely bath. He was smaller than Geralt and could stretch out more in the tub, which he always took great joy in. Of course, his bent knees always ended up sticking out of the water, but that didn’t bother him.

He washed his hair and body then sat in the bath until it was cold. Rarely did he feel as relaxed as he did in that moment. No reason to worry about Geralt getting hurt on a job(at least for now), no thinking about Yennefer(ugh), no nothing! Until the excitement inevitably kicked up again but really, Jaskier could deal with that. After all, he still had to write songs, did he not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Next chapter shouldn't be too far off.


	3. I've Been Burning Flags To Let You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> By the time the inn came back into sight, Jaskier’s hands were itching for his lute. When they got to their room, he cast away his muddied doublet and boots immediately and hopped onto his bed, pulling out his lute.  
> “Going to tell the world about your newfound fighting prowess?” Geralt asked as Jaskier began to pluck out bits of a tune.  
> “Do you think I should?” He teased, and continued when Geralt huffed noncommittally, “No, a bit of inspiration struck me as we were walking back.”  
> “Saw some poor townswomen who caught your fancy, I imagine.”  
> “Hah,” Jaskier smiled, “I suppose you could say that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this chapter is a little rough for a few reasons. One being it got more angsty than I was intending, but that's okay! The other is that I edited it a lot and it still doesn't quite feel polished, so I might edit and update it?? But maybe not, we'll see. It's also a little short so sorry about that.  
> **Edit: title is from Flags by SMYL! Lovely song, very sad.  
> ***Edit: IMPORTANT!! I edited the fight in this chapter to make it feel a little more dramatic. I don't usually edit stuff like this but it just felt really out of place and like it wasnt important enough.

The next morning found Jaskier cold and confused as something was tossed at him to wake him up. He jerked upright, opening his eyes expecting some sort of intruder, but found nothing. Instead, it was Geralt, standing at the edge of his bed looking expectantly at him. Jaskier looked down to see what had been thrown at him.

“Geralt, you can’t just throw daggers at people!” There it lay, in his lap.

“It’s in its sheath.” Geralt said, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards. He almost looked amused, which was a frighteningly good look on him. Jaskier decided to cover up his spreading blush by huffing angrily and getting out of bed.

“Still, it’s very rude! I mean, are you trying to seem like you want to kill me?” He said, scrambling to pull the rest of his clothes on. It was still terribly cold in their room.

“If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already.” Geralt said.

“Very comforting, truly, Geralt.” He drawled. There was that twitch at the corner of Geralt’s mouth again, good gods. Jaskier couldn’t tell if today was going to be a good day or a terrible one, “So, care to explain  _ why _ I had a knife thrown at me this early in the morning?”

“Training.”

“The sun is barely up!” He protested.

“So?” Geralt asked. Jaskier realized he already had his armor on.

“Good Gods, Geralt, would it kill you to sleep for a normal amount.” He grumbled, pulling himself shivering out of bed. He got dressed quickly and picked up the dagger again. Geralt was already by the door. Jaskier almost grabbed his lute out of habit, but then thought better of it.

Jaskier followed Geralt down out of the inn, out to the edge of town where there was a clearing in the grass. Geralt looked Jaskier up and down and removed a few pieces of armor. 

“Wh- Hey, I already know I don’t be able to hit you anyway, you don’t have to rub it in.”

“Hmm,” Geralt put his things down on a rock, then turned to face Jaskier, arms open, “Hit me.”

“What?” Jaskier balked.

“Hit me. Fists, knife, it doesn’t matter. Try it.” Geralt said. Jaskier squinted. He shifted his weight, keeping his knees bent like he’d seen Geralt do, then lunged forward, knife in hand. He saw Geralt move to the side easily and tried to turn and redirect himself, but the ground was still muddy and he slipped, careening to the side. Geralt caught him by the arm before he could hit the ground and impale himself with the dagger.

“Good.” Geralt rumbled.

“Good? Geralt, that was utter rubbish and you know it.”

“You kept your knees bent, and you saw me start to dodge. If the ground hadn’t been wet, you might’ve had a chance. Try again.”

“You’re not going to give me any actual instructions?” Jaskier said exasperatedly. In truth, he felt as though he was glowing from Geralt’s praise. Or attempt at it.

“Not yet.” 

“Fine.” he huffed, but he wasn’t really mad. He took another look at Geralt. He wondered if he could fake him out. Geralt would probably still see him coming a mile away, but it was worth a shot.

He feigned a step forward to the right, but at the last second placed his foot to the left and swung the dagger forward. He could see Geralt’s eyes widen a touch, but he still stepped back and easily avoided the swing. Jaskier kept moving, lunging forward again. Before he could do much else, a heavy weight hit his stomach and he was being thrown back.

He landed heavily in the mud, and when he gathered his senses again Geralt was standing over him, kicking the dagger away from his foot. Jaskier knew he should not be that into Geralt standing over him like that, but  _ fuck. _ He swallowed nervously.

“Get up. Try again.”

“Are you going to teach me something or not?” Jaskier laughed, trying to cover how flustered he was as he stood up. 

“Fine. Give me the dagger.” Geralt held out his hand.

“Oh dear. Geralt, you’re going to kill me.” He said. Geralt rolled his eyes. His stupidly pretty eyes. Fuck, now Jaskier was distracted again.

“I’ll show you something, and you try to copy it on me.” Geralt replied. Jaskier nodded, handing over the dagger. He shifted his weight uneasily, unsure of what to do. Geralt was staring at him unmoving, when suddenly he was gone.

Jaskier felt his knees get knocked out from under him and an arm lock around his throat, then the blade followed soon after, Geralt pressing the flat of it against his throat. Geralt was holding him so that he wasn’t actually hanging by his throat, only pressing uncomfortably against his arm as he was made to kneel in the mud. But honestly, Jaskier would’ve considered it a mercy if Geralt had simply choked him out and killed him. Suffice to say having Geralt’s arm around his throat was a little more enjoyment than he’d been expecting to see out of this training.

Trying to ignore how suddenly  _ warm _ he felt, he tapped Geralt’s arm and the Witcher let him go. Jaskier took a breath then stumble to his feet. Geralt was looking at him nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just choked Jaskier a little(and as if Jaskier hadn’t enjoyed it a little).

Geralt tossed him the dagger, which he fumbled but caught before it hit the ground.

“You try.” Geralt said. Jaskier frowned.

“You’re… Gigantic. How am I supposed to knock you down like that?”

“Here,” Geralt turned around, “Try kicking right behind my knees.”

“Won’t that hurt you?”

“If I was an attacker, I hope you wouldn’t be asking that question. But no, it won’t. It simply makes the knees buckle.” He said. Jaskier tilted his head, and gave him a kick. Well, more of a light tap, really. He wasn’t surprised when Geralt didn’t move.

“It didn’t work.”

“Oh, did you try? I couldn’t feel it.” Geralt smirked. Jaskier gasped in (mostly) mock offense.

“Oh really? Take that, you smug bastard!” He cried, giving Geralt another kick behind one knee. 

To his surprise, Geralt grunted and fell to one knee. Jaskier felt a little flash of pride at being able to (half) knock over the mighty Witcher, even if it was because of muscles and all that. And besides, the look that Geralt gave him over his shoulder as he stood up was more than enough. There was a glint of something in his yellow eyes, and Jaskier chose to label it as pride. 

“Good. Now try to get both legs at once.”

They continued for what felt like hours to Jaskier, until they were both sweaty and covered in mud. Well, mostly Jaskier was covered in mud. All the cleanliness of the previous night’s bath was gone, but Jaskier found he didn’t mind as much as he thought. He was now able to knock Geralt over from behind and dodge with reasonable accuracy. 

Any pride that he felt was multiplied by the positively  _ radiant _ smile that Geralt wore as they walked back to the inn. Not that Geralt would ever admit that it was radiant, no, and Jaskier was willing to bet he didn’t even know he was smiling. It was barely even a glint more teeth than normal, but the fact that it hadn’t gone away since they finished training was what made it seem to glow to Jaskier. 

It inspired a song in him, and by the time the inn came back into sight Jaskier’s hands were itching for his lute. When they got to their room, he cast away his muddied doublet and boots immediately and hopped onto his bed, pulling out his lute.

“Going to tell the world about your newfound fighting prowess?” Geralt asked as Jaskier began to pluck out bits of a tune.

“Do you think I should?” He teased, and continued when Geralt huffed noncommittally, “No, a bit of inspiration struck me as we were walking back.”

“Saw some poor townswomen who caught your fancy, I imagine.” 

“Hah,” Jaskier smiled, “I suppose you could say that.” 

“Hmm.”

“The barest hints of a smile, how it makes my heart race,” He sang, wanting to put more into the words but Geralt was  _ right there _ and he simply couldn’t, “The fangs of love have their hold on me, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice interrupted him when there was a lull in his strumming. Jaskier stopped, looking over at him. Geralt was sitting on his own bed, not looking at Jaskier, not looking at anything in particular.

“Yes, Geralt?” He asked. Suddenly he was nervous that the Witcher had finally put two and two together, somehow with those vague words he’d figured it all out and now he was going to leave-

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?” Jaskier looked down, hiding his nerves.

“Fall in love so easily. And then move on just as quickly.” Geralt’s voice was quiet.

“I- what do you mean?” Jaskier could feel something ugly settling in the pit of his stomach. Dread.

“I don’t understand it. I envy you, sometimes.” Geralt huffed out a short laugh, “Moving on so quickly. Is there never anyone who sticks with you? That no matter what you try, you can’t get rid of them and your feelings?”

“Oh,” Jaskier said in a small voice. Jealousy joined the dread, “You mean like Yennefer.”

“You didn’t give me an answer.” Geralt said, face blank and infuriating as ever. The jealousy was giving way to something else now, something even uglier. 

“Right,” He gave a short, bitter laugh, “It hurts, doesn’t it? It hurts being so near and so far from someone. You want her back, don’t you?”

“I don-”

“I know you do. Why would you pick now of all times to talk about feelings?” Jaskier was yelling, oh gods when had he started yelling, and Geralt  _ flinched _ , “You’ve never given a shit about my feelings before, Geralt, why would you pick now?” Flinched from something  _ Jaskier _ said, he didn’t like how that felt but he felt a little dizzy from the power of it, “I’ll tell you something, Geralt, I’m not going to help you get back together with Yennefer. You’re insufferable around her.”

“Jaskier,  _ stop _ .” Geralt growled, and Jaskier did, to his own surprise. And he sat down (he wasn’t sure when he’d gotten to his feet) and he folded his hands and he stared out the window blankly like nothing happened. And Geralt, of course, Geralt didn’t say a word.

  
  
  


Geralt knew his face looked the same as it always did on the outside. Flat, expressionless, strange to those who didn’t like Witchers. Inside, he’d never felt more tired. He was tired of pushing away his feelings and refusing to name them. He was tired of travelling with Jaskier who could see the beauty anywhere, tired of all the songs that made him sound so wonderful, tired to his very core.

He wished that he hadn’t said anything. He should’ve kept with his track record of never talking about feelings. It served him well enough, until it didn’t. But if this was what he got for trying, why should he try in the first place? And to make matters worse, it was Jaskier. Jaskier, who thought he loved Yennefer.

It was such a contrast to just hours before, when everything with Jaskier had felt safe and sure and promising. Geralt wished he had Jaskier’s way with words, then he could say something and end the horrible silence. Apologize, maybe, for saying anything at all. This was why he didn’t ask questions.

It felt like hours later when Jaskier finally picked himself up off the bed, grabbed his lute and walked out the door without so much as a glance to Geralt. And it truly was hours until Geralt mustered up the courage to plod slowly downstairs.

The inn’s tavern was lively with familiar music. Geralt chose a table in the corner as usual, one where Jaskier wouldn’t easily be able to see him watching. Jaskier looked completely unphased as he played, stirring up the crowd with his usual beaming smile. He’d never felt this hollow watching Jaskier before. He felt like he was an empty pitcher of water, and that irritating feeling was bouncing around in his empty gut, twisting through his chest as he watched his bard. The bard. Not his, likely never his.

Jaskier’s eyes fell on him at one point in the night and his fingers slipped, and his smile slipped too, off of his face for just a moment. Then he recovered, far too quickly for anyone but Geralt to notice. He turned around and didn’t face Geralt’s corner for the rest of the night. Geralt wanted… he didn’t know what.

Some ugly part of him figured that if he gave Jaskier long enough he would be forgiven without an apology. He knew it wasn’t right and it was one of those things that kept him up at night, but he’d done it before and he could do it again. He would live.

At some point, he realized that Jaskier was gone. In fact, most of the bar’s patrons had gone back to their rooms. He was simply sitting in stoic silence in a dark corner, cup clenched in one large fist. He heaved a sigh and wandered slowly to the counter, tossing a few coins onto it before going up to his room. He let his steps fall heavily so Jaskier would be aware that he was approaching.

When he entered the room, it was already dark. He could see Jaskier’s still form lying in his bed, but he could tell that he wasn’t asleep yet. The smell of misery rolled off him in waves. Geralt frowned. He stripped slowly and climbed into his own bed, never taking his eyes off Jaskier. But the bard didn’t turn around or say anything. Geralt let his gaze linger for a moment longer, then turned away and went to sleep. Perhaps things would be a little better in the morning. Jaskier tended to bounce back quickly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof. Anyway. Things are very hectic in my life right now, so I have honestly no clue when the next chapter will be, but rest assured I will update as soon as humanly possible. Thank you for reading!


	4. Oh, To Fall At Your Feet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Tell me, child, does he know?” The man led them back into the kitchen. Jaskier started laying their things out on the table.  
> “Know what?” Jaskier swallowed thickly, “That I- That I love him?” Gods, saying the words out loud felt… He didn’t know. Freeing, on the one hand. On the other, it felt like a crushing weight to actually admit it to someone else, “No. I haven’t been subtle, but he’s rather dense sometimes.” He allowed himself a bitter laugh.  
> “Tell him.” The man said softly.  
> “I can’t. The last thing he wants is someone needing him.”   
> “Boy, that ship seems to have sailed long ago.” the man looked pointedly at Jaskier arranging the things Geralt hadn’t brought with him out on the table for him. Jaskier looked away.  
> “I can’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF OKAY SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG!! But we're back, and it shouldn't be nearly as long for the next(and last!!) chapter.  
> This chapter is also really long! It's nearly two time the length of the previous chapters, so I hope that makes up for the weight.

Jaskier was already packing up his things when Geralt awoke the next morning. He was half expecting Geralt to pack his things silently as well and depart in a different direction. But even through the silence, as they paid and left the inn, as Geralt grabbed Roach, they stayed walking the same way.

Jaskier led the way, having asked someone the night before which direction to head to make it to the coast. They were closer than he’d thought, only a few day’s journey. He led the way, to the edge of the woods, not looking but all the while aware of Geralt following behind him. How strange it felt. Not the silence, although it was strange to not be filling it. It was the fact that he was in front. There was no steady form in front of him to follow or hide behind.

“Jaskier.” To his surprise it was Geralt who broke the silence.

“Yes?” He turned around to see Geralt climbing up on Roach. Jaskier felt his heart sink. Was this where they parted ways?

“Get up.” Geralt grunted, extending his hand. Jaskier took it cautiously. Geralt swung him up on Roach’s back and started off.

“Do you even know where we’re go-”

“I know my way around.” He said. Silence fell upon them once again. It was still early enough that the clouds hadn’t burned off yet. The sun shone through them, lighting them up white and gold. The shadows were indistinct and gray, and somehow it felt more solemn than when it had been raining. Jaskier guessed that was probably due to his own mood and not so much the weather.

He took out his lute and fiddled around on it, but was sure to keep quiet. He didn’t feel like incurring Geralt’s wrath today, even though he definitely deserved it. Since last night, the song he’d started composing on the mountain had been running through his head and he longed to work on it. He was having trouble putting everything he felt into words, which was not a good problem to have as it was his entire job. He knew at the very least that there was one line that had to stay in. “I’m weak my love, and I am wanting.”

That line felt like what he wanted to build the song around. And something something garroter, he liked that metaphor too. Judging garroter? Garroter, jury and judge? Yes, that was something. He plucked out the chords solemnly, softly, and hummed, not daring to sing the words aloud. Something had to go in between them. Perhaps something about how this strange wandering was his sentence, but somehow he didn’t mind? Not when it was with Geralt, at least. He tried to push away the guilt he felt as he thought about the song. He didn’t deserve Geralt’s company.

How he wished he could have a little time to himself, so he could sing out loud and feel the world on his tongue to see what fit best. But he had to make do, so he did. For the rest of the day, as they rode through the woods, he made do with humming to himself. When he tired of working on the new song, he went back to old classics. These, he sang aloud, although still not too loudly. Every so often he could feel Geralt shifting behind his back, swaying in time with the music. This made him smile, softly, made him hope that even though things weren’t right between them now, they could be soon.

Jaskier rather enjoyed sitting on horseback, facing backwards out to the world. It meant he didn’t have to worry about directions, and if anyone tried to sneak up on him he’d be able to give Geralt a good warning. A few times he paused in his singing, trying to form some sort of apology on his tongue. It should’ve been easy for him, words were his medium, but nothing came out. He had no idea how to explain himself without exposing the mess of feelings that was his heart.

And so he kept his mouth shut until he felt up to singing again. He wondered if Geralt could hear the regret in his voice, but he guessed not. Geralt was, for lack of kinder words, remarkably dense. If he hadn’t realized the nature of Jaskier’s feelings when they argued, he likely never would.

Gods, it hurt to think that, but it was true. And Jaskier could live with that. Really, he could. As long as things returned to normal between them, he could live with it. 

The forests they rode through got darker and darker, and the sky above the trees remained the same dull gray. Under other circumstances Jaskier figured he would be afraid, but with his proximity to Geralt he felt he would be fine. The breeze was crisp and smelled of rain. Though the sky threatened them, as they set up camp in the forest that night, no rain fell.

As expected, Geralt said no more than necessary as they made dinner and sat by their fire. Other than Jaskier’s silence, though, no outsider would guess that anything had happened. They sat side by side near the fire as always, and Geralt placed his bedroll close to Jaskiers to keep him safe. Jaskier fell into a fitful sleep before Geralt had even gathered up his blankets, as usually happened in the woods.

Jaskier dreamed of the coast when he finally fell into a deep sleep. He found it in himself to talk again, maybe somewhere the both of them uttered an apology, and things were beautiful. The sky was blue and the ocean glittered, and there was a rare smile on Geralt’s face.

One could imagine his disappointment when he awoke looking up at dark, looming treetops framing an angry black sky. He groaned and rolled to the side. Geralt was, of course, awake already, tending to the fire. The sun hadn’t risen yet but Jaskier didn’t feel like going back to sleep, so instead he watched Geralt poke at the fire with lidded eyes. The orange glow against the darkness was soothing. It blurred as he struggled to keep his eyes open, throwing lines of light across his vision. He let out a small sigh, and Geralt slowly turned his head to face him. His eyes caught the light of the fire and seemed unnaturally bright. Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat and he shut his eyes quickly, trying to pretend he was still asleep. He knew it wouldn’t fool Geralt, but oh well.

Some time later, he opened his eyes again and the sky was still angry and dark, but he could see light coming through the clouds in some places. The fire was still going strong and Geralt was in the exact same position he’d been in hours earlier. Jaskier sat up and cleared his throat. Geralt looked over at him. Gods, his eyes were practically glittering in the firelight. It was almost enough to make all the words Jaskier didn’t know how to say come tumbling out of his mouth unrestrained. 

“Think it’ll storm?” He said instead, and Geralt was silent for a second. Jaskier cursed himself. Why was it so hard for him to speak, all of a sudden?

“Mm. In a few days. We’ll have reached the coast by then.” Geralt pushed himself to his feet.

“Are you sure?” Jaskier said doubtfully, “The sky looks awfully heavy to me.”

“I don’t smell rain yet.” Geralt said simply, and that was the end of that. They packed up in silence( _ again, _ Jaskier might add, and gods that hurt). 

Geralt helped Jaskier up onto Roach again, and Jaskier began to wonder if this was Geralt’s way of extending an olive branch. Of saying sorry. For what, for loving Yennefer? Jaskier wouldn’t make him apologize for that, even if it hurt. He knew all too well that you couldn’t help who you loved.

Jaskier could’ve helped how he reacted to it, or could at least say something, something to show he was sorry for his outburst, but the words didn’t come out. Not as they rode out of the gloomy forest onto a somehow even gloomier grassy plain. The world around them was gray and lifeless and seemed to stretch infinitely.

As they rode along, Jaskier could feel Geralt shifting behind him. Finally, he pulled Roach to a stop and looked over his shoulder at Jaskier.

“I can’t stand this.”

“What?”

“The silence. Stop moping.”

“You’ve never much minded the silence before.” Jaskier said, too fast, and oh gods he was just digging himself into an even deeper pit. Geralt’s jaw worked, and it was a moment before he spit out,

“Get off.” He nodded at the ground. Oh. This was it. Jaskier swung his leg around and numbly slid off of Roach, ready to start walking in the opposite direction and watch as Geralt and Roach faded into the distance. But there Geralt went,  _ again _ , tossing him a little bit of hope. Geralt swung down from Roach and pointed at the dagger on Jaskier’s belt.

“Wh-” Jaskier sputtered, “You want to train me. Now. In the middle of Melitele-knows-where?”

“Yes. Since it seems your words have dried up and you’re not good for much else.” Geralt said. Jaskier felt a little pang of hurt when that hit a little too close to home with how he was feeling, but he supposed he deserved it. 

...And he supposed he deserved every time he fell on his ass trying to attack Geralt. And deserved all the mud on his clothes. And gods, he did  _ not  _ deserve the praise that Geralt gave him when he managed to gain the upper hand.

It felt good to get the energy out, he had to admit, but it felt too much like letting his anger out upon Geralt again. And Geralt was just… taking it. Hadn’t said anything about what Jaskier had said. Didn’t complain when he was the one knocked into the dirt.

When they stopped sparring and got back on the road, Jaskier felt worse than before. Why couldn’t he stop the rush of ugly things that came into his head whenever he could find it in himself to speak? He didn’t want to be mean, or bitter, but that’s all he’d been for the last few days.

It was a blessing when they reached a town a day later. In the hours leading up to it they could see the ocean, gray and tumultuous, way down the hillside from them. And finally, little brown houses started passing by until they came upon a quaint village all lined up on a slope by the water. Jaskier guessed it would be much prettier if the sky was bright, but even so it was lovely.

They wandered the town in search of a place to stay, but the only inn they found was full. The woman at the counter pointed them to a nearby building, grunting something about being able to rent a place. So they walked to the other building. It was a two-story cozy home, and the first floor was set up to look like a lobby. There was a short old man sporting a large white beard sitting at the front desk.

“What can I do for ye?” He called in a friendly tone, looking both of them over.

“We were told you could rent us rooms.” Geralt said evenly. Rooms. Two of them. Jaskier supposed that made sense.

“Ah! I can do ye one better. Got a whole house free. It’ll be perfect for the two of ye.” He said with a smile.

“Great. How much?” Jaskier asked. The old man got a twinkle in his eye.

“Yer a Witcher, are ye not?” The man asked Geralt.

“Mm.”

“Well, if ye can get rid of a beast for me, I’ll put ye up for free.”

“Of course.” Geralt said. 

“Wonderful!” The man chortled. He stood up and grabbed a cane, then hobbled over to them, “I can give ye the details as we walk. I’d get rid of the beast myself but I’m not as fast as I used to be. Heh.”

The man walked them up through the town to a small house on the edge of the town. It was one story with a wild garden, and it sat on a grassy dune only a few hundred feet from the beach. Geralt had gathered his things immediately and set off with Roach to deal with the monster. He’d been convinced it wouldn’t take long. As the old man showed Jaskier into the house, he started to speak.

“Bit of a lover’s quarrel, eh?” he elbowed Jaskier’s side gently. Jaskier flushed and looked away.

“A- A quarrel, certainly, but we’re not- I mean, he doesn’t- How did you know, anyway?”

“Ye don’t seem like the type to stay quiet, but ye barely spoke a word. And ye looked at him like a lost puppy would.” 

“Ah. I see. Well, you have a keen eye.” Jaskier mumbled. He wanted to sink into the ground out of embarrassment. They walked from the kitchen to the hall where they could see through two open doors into the bedrooms.

“When ye live as long as I do, ye learn to recognize love in all its forms,” He said sagely, “Tell me, child, does he know?” The man led them back into the kitchen. Jaskier started laying their things out on the table.

“Know what?” Jaskier swallowed thickly, “That I- That I love him?” Gods, saying the words out loud felt… He didn’t know. Freeing, on the one hand. On the other, it felt like a crushing weight to actually admit it to someone else, “No. I haven’t been subtle, but he’s rather dense sometimes.” He allowed himself a bitter laugh.

“Tell him.” The man said softly.

“I can’t. The last thing he wants is someone needing him.” 

“Boy, that ship seems to have sailed long ago.” the man looked pointedly at Jaskier arranging the things Geralt hadn’t brought with him out on the table for him. Jaskier looked away.

“I can’t.”

The sun was sinking in the sky and Geralt wasn’t back yet. Jaskier wasn’t worried. Geralt could handle himself, did handle himself, and would be back when he was done. He wasn’t worried, but he was lonely. The house, however small, still felt empty without Geralt’s presence. Jaskier wished they were on better terms so when Geralt got back Jaskier could make some excuse for them to wander the garden or beach together.

As it stood, he would have to wander the garden and beach solo. Before leaving, he set some things in a pot and set it on a very low heat that didn’t need to be attended to. Then he grabbed his lute and set off. There were gnarled rose bushes sprouting along the edges of the house, and beyond that there was mostly tall gray-green grass stretching out towards the sea. The grass gave way to sand and then ocean, from what Jaskier could see. He wandered into the grass, finding a small footpath that looked like it hadn’t seen much traffic recently. As he walked, he decided to play his latest song through. He wasn’t quite done with it, but it was fun to play. And sad. Mostly sad.

“The fairer sex, they often call it, but her love’s as unfair as a crook. It steals all my reason, commits every treason, of logic with naught but a look,” Yennefer and Geralt, and the thought of them making every bit of common sense leave Jaskier’s mind, “A storm breaking on the horizon, of longing and heartache and lust.”

How ironic, Jaskier thought as he stared out to sea. The gray clouds that had been hanging heavy in the sky for the past few days were roiling darker and darker now, and he could feel a wet breeze on his face. Underneath the clouds, at the horizon, he could see the glow of the setting sun.

“She’s always bad news, it’s always lose, lose, so tell me love, tell me love, how is that just?” Damn Yennefer.

“But the story is this; she’ll destroy with her sweet kiss, her sweet kiss. But the story is this; she’ll destroy with her sweet kiss.” Damn  _ Geralt _ .

Geralt shifted his weight back and forth. The beast was staring him down with wide, empty eyes. It lunged towards him but he rolled to the side, narrowly missing being hit by its spindly legs. He dodged behind a tree and peered out from the side. The beast seemed to be unaware of him, loping past his tree without so much as a glance. He watched its head swing around on its long neck, searching for him.

_ “Her current is pulling you closer, and charging the hot humid night. The red sky at dawn is giving a warning, you fool better stay out of sight.” _

As the beast crept along, Geralt stepped out behind it, careful to keep his steps light and even. He lifted his sword and tried to get as close as he could to the monster.

“I’m weak my love, and I am wanting,” Jaskier all but shouted into the wind what was know whipping his hair back, “If this is the path I must trudge.”

Geralt saw his opportunity and took it; With one step forward he was able to reach and grab the beast’s head and pull it back. Its large body careened against him but he held firm, planting his feet and placing his sword against its throat. In one stroke, its neck was cut open. In another, he cut its head clean off.

_ “I welcome my sentence, give to you my penance, garroter, jury and judge.” _

Geralt wiped the blood from his face as best he could and picked up the beast’s head, slinging it under one arm. He sheathed his sword and started the trudge back to the village, not wanting to get back on Roach with a bloody head in his grip. People would steer clear of him even more than they usually did now that he had the beast’s head under his arm.

The town wasn’t busy when he returned, but there were a few people milling about. The wind was howling, carrying leaves and setting banners whipping about. He heard a familiar tune being whistled by an unfamiliar voice. Up ahead were two women, one of them humming Toss a Coin. As he passed them, the one humming stopped abruptly and sidestepped him, grimacing at the monster head he clutched in one arm. Not unexpected, but a bit ironic considering the origin of the song.

Jaskier heard the door open behind him but didn’t turn around. He was stirring the pot slowly.

“Jaskier.” Geralt’s voice rasped from behind him.

“I’m making stew.” He said, turning slowly. Geralt was caked in blood. Geralt’s eyes flicked down to the table where Jaskier had set out all the gear he didn’t bring with him.

“Thanks.” He said gruffly. Jaskier raised his eyebrows. He hadn’t been expecting a thank you.

“Of course. You should wash up before dinner though,” He looked Geralt up and down again, “You’re disgusting. No offence.” Far from the meanest thing he’d said lately, he thought guiltily, but he didn’t need to dig a deeper grave.

“Mmm.” Geralt hummed, then walked slowly out of the room. Jaskier watched him go, then turned back to the stew.

Jaskier let his mind wander, though he kept a watchful eye on the stew and stirred when needed. He hummed nothing, no song in mind, just whatever tune suited him and his mood. It wasn’t particularly joyful, like most of his songs, but it wasn’t as miserable as he felt. A happy medium. Or a neutral one, he supposed. He could take that. He’d take most anything over the aching in his heart he felt at the moment. 

Later, perhaps hours or just minutes, he wasn’t sure, Geralt came back into the kitchen. His hair was clean and his skin looked bright. The iron tang of blood was no longer coming off of him as he walked past and started grabbing bowls silently. Jaskier watched him get spoons and set them by the pot, waiting patiently.

“S’almost ready.” Jaskier said quietly. Geralt nodded.

He filled their bowls and Geralt set them on the table. They sat and ate their dinner mostly in silence. It would’ve felt romantic otherwise; they had candles illuminating the otherwise dark dining room. Every so often Jaskier looked up and caught Geralt’s yellow eyes on him. He would glance away so quickly that Jaskier was almost sure that he’d imagined it, except that it kept happening. It felt like Geralt was trying to ask him a question or get him to start the conversation like he always did, but it was Geralt. He wasn’t going to outright say it unless he had to.

And when the weight of his gaze became too much, Jaskier stopped looking up. He couldn’t break the silence. It was like it had built up inside of him; it had been so many days of not talking as much as he usually did that now it felt strange to even try. His tongue was heavy in his mouth. The apology that should’ve come so easily was nowhere to be found.

So they ate in silence, with Geralt’s eyes still weighing heavy on Jaskier. They ate in silence, Jaskier washed up in silence, and they went to bed in separate rooms in silence. 

Jaskier felt worse and worse as the night wore on. The night was dark outside, almost no moonlight shining through the heavy clouds. The wind still howled and the rain was pelting down on the wooden roof, creating a thrumming sound that would’ve normally sounded comforting. Now, though, it kept him awake and made him restless. His voice was caught in his throat and he knew no amount of singing would get it out.

He sat up out of bed and looked out the window. The clouds and rain melded with the ocean, creating a seamless gray-blue haze outside. The grass was being whipped around by the wind, shining drops of water landing on it and then being whisked off again. Jaskier stood, trancelike, and walked to the front of the house. He creaked the door open, hoping that Geralt didn’t hear him.

He didn’t bother grabbing Geralt’s cloak from where it sat on the back of the chair, and didn’t even bother with his shoes. The cold, wet sand on his toes as he stepped outside made him gasp. It was shocking but not unpleasant, grounding him a little. He sped up his pace until he was stumbling then running down to the beach, and his tongue felt so obstructive in his mouth so he opened his mouth and yelled, and then when nothing but silence met him he yelled again. He screamed out into the blue haze, shouted all the air out of his lungs until he reached the edge of the water. 

Jaskier stopped to gasp for breath, doubling over and nearly sinking into the surf. The water was black-blue and capped with white further out to sea. The rain fell on his head, caught on his eyelashes and made little glittering points of light at the edge of his vision. He sucked in a breath and let out another long scream into the night. It felt good. His tongue felt normal and his head was clear. Clear enough to see that he needed to march back up to Geralt in the morning and say sorry, and then fuck off forever, probably.

He stared out to sea for a moment more, then heard the wet sand crunching behind him. He winced. It was Geralt. It had to be, he must’ve heard Jaskier screaming.

“Jaskier. I heard you screaming, are you alright?” Geralt actually sounded concerned. Jaskier almost laughed. He shook his head slowly, water running down his face.

“I- No, I’m not fine, actually. Before I say anything more, Geralt, I need you to know… It hurt. When you went to talk to Yennefer. It’s not fair and it doesn’t make sense, but-”

“I went to say goodbye, nothing more,” Geralt interrupted, “She was bitter for my leaving, but I’m glad I did.”

“Even after what I said?” Jaskier winced, turning away. His wet hair flopped into his eyes.

“Yes. It was… refreshing.”

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier said, and there it was. Finally. How had it taken him so long to say those words?

“I am too.” Geralt said quietly, much to Jaskier's surprise. It was so quiet he almost could’ve missed it.

“I still wonder,” No, Jaskier, he scolded in his head, you’re digging yourself into a hole again, “Did you love her?”

“I thought so. But now, I’m not so sure.” Geralt said. He took a step forward, coming up directly beside Jaskier but not turning to look at him. They stared out into the blue haze together.

“What changed?” Jaskier asked. Geralt was silent long enough that Jaskier thought he wasn’t going to answer.

“Do you want the truth?” Geralt replied finally.

“Of course.” Jaskier said. There was another long silence.

“You.” Geralt said finally.

“Me?” Jaskier finally whipped around to face him, eyes wide in surprise. Water spun off of his hair.

“Yes. I thought what I felt for Yennefer was love, but you changed that. At first I thought it was annoyance. I couldn’t stand to be around you,” Geralt laughed, dear gods he actually  _ laughed _ and Jaskier nearly passed out, “But recently… I realized that I can’t stand to be away from you.” Geralt’s face felt open, more open than it ever had been. His hair was slicked against his head from the rain and his face was flushed, but he looked beautiful.

“Oh.” Jaskier breathed. He was pretty sure his knees were about to give way.

“Even though you’ve been mad at me, the past few days, it’s been nice being near you.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve felt terrible ever since.” Jaskier blurted, and Geralt smiled softly.

“You said nothing untrue,” Geralt brushed the side of Jaskier’s face and his knees were definitely wobbling now, “Tell me, Jaskier, if it’s not too late to ask. How do you feel?”

God, of course when Geralt finally talks he’d be considerate and beautiful and a  _ fucking asshole _ -

“Like I want to kiss your brains out.” Jaskier replied. Geralt grinned, and stepped a little closer, and Jaskier did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally. Anyway, next chapter is gonna tie up some loose ends(meaning things I forgot about until editing this chapter), so if you're wondering about anything that's supposed to happen hopefully I'll get to that lmao.  
> And of course, you'll get some nice geraskier fluff.  
> See you soon, and thanks for reading!


	5. I'm Weak My Love, and I am Wanting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier was itching to work on Her Sweet Kiss again. He would keep the current version tucked away in his memory, for it reflected how he felt when he wrote it. But he wasn’t angry at Geralt anymore, and there was nothing between Yennefer and Geralt. He tried to change around some of the lyrics so they kept the same themes as the first version, but now held an entirely different meaning. His story had a happy ending. He sang quietly, still conscious of Geralt nearby, listening to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a month. I'm so sorry.  
> Big thank you to drowninginchamomiletea who gave me a goal to get this done by(today)!!   
> I hope you enjoy this last chapter. It's a little short, but it's sweet and it gets the point across.

_ “Tell me, Jaskier, if it’s not too late to ask. How do you feel?” _

_ “Like I want to kiss your brains out.” _

And kiss his brains out Jaskier did. It wasn’t the most pleasant kiss he’d ever had, to be quite honest. It was wet, and Jaskier felt unsteady in the sand and more unsteady yet from the fact that he was  _ kissing Geralt, holy gods _ . But it was amazing, because it was Geralt. Jaskier enjoyed it more than he’d be willing to admit when Geralt’s sharp teeth caught on his lips. He reached up a hand to grab Geralt’s(very wet) hair and pull him in closer. Geralt let himself be pulled in, smiling into their kiss. Eventually when Jaskier pulled away to breathe, Geralt spoke.

“We should go inside, you’ll catch cold.”

“Mm. Perhaps you’re right.” Jaskier took hold of his hand and tugged him back up the beach to the house. As they walked, soaked to the bone by the rain, Jaskier thought to himself that perhaps Her Sweet Kiss deserved a happier ending.

They only made use of one of the bedrooms for the rest of the night, and slept well into the next morning. By the time they awoke(Well, Geralt first, then Jaskier shortly after) the sun had already begun to burn away the clouds. The puddles outside were gleaming under the sun. The clouds that remained were bright white as the sun shined through them.

Jaskier smiled up at Geralt, who’s hair glowed similarly to the clouds. 

“Good morning.” Geralt grunted.

“A good morning indeed!” Jaskier said, hauling himself upright. He clambered out of bed on unsteady legs. As they walked to the kitchen together, Jaskier started to hum. He was itching to work on Her Sweet Kiss again. He would keep the current version tucked away in his memory, for it reflected how he felt when he wrote it. But he wasn’t angry at Geralt anymore, and there was nothing between Yennefer and Geralt. 

While Geralt made breakfast, Jaskier sat down at the table and took out his notebook. He held his lute in his lap so he could pluck out the chords if he needed to check them or see how the words sounded with music. He tried to change around some of the lyrics so they kept the same themes as the first version, but now held an entirely different meaning. His story had a happy ending. He sang quietly, still conscious of Geralt nearby, listening to him.

Geralt soon brought the food to the table. There was fresh fruit and bread that Jaskier had bought when they came into town. Jaskier bit into a piece of fruit gratefully. Geralt watched him with a fond smile.

“We should go into town today and get you another dagger.” Geralt remarked.

“Another one?” Jaskier raised his eyebrows, “Do I need one?”

“Two daggers is better than one. Besides, then I can teach you how to fight with two weapons. I think you’d be good at it.”

“Oh,” Jaskier blushed, “Thank you. I hope so.” He felt too shy to say anything for the rest of their meal. It felt good to stay quiet out of something other than anger and shame for the first time in days.

As they walked into the village, Geralt could hear Jaskier humming under his breath. It was the same tune he’d been hearing the past few days. He glanced briefly at the bard beside him and wondered if he’d get to hear the song proper. For all the complaining he did about Jaskier’s singing, he meant none of it. The man had a lovely voice and was skilled with a lute, and Geralt could recognize it internally if not externally.

Geralt and Jaskier settled on a slightly simpler dagger than the first they bought. Then they walked back up to the house and found a clearing in the grass. Geralt handed both daggers to Jaskier and looked him up and down.

“Show me what you remember.” He commanded. Jaskier pursed his lips, leaning back on his heels thoughtfully. Suddenly, Geralt blinked and Jaskier had moved. Immediately he shifted his stance and got ready to dodge. Jaskier came at him from the left, but he could tell he was about to feign to the right from the way his feet were positioned. He was able to reach out an arm and easily knock Jaskier away, but if he didn’t have as much experience Jaskier likely would’ve hit him.

Undeterred, Jaskier tried again, surprising Geralt. He deftly regained his balance and circled around. Geralt went easy on him, allowing him to knock his knees out from him. Jaskier placed the flat of one of the blades against Geralt’s throat before stepping away. Geralt let out a chuckle.

“Still a showman at heart.” He mused. Jaskier laughed.

“I suppose so.”

Geralt showed him a few more moves to expand his knowledge. He’d been right; Jaskier was a natural with two weapons. Something about it clicked in his brain, likely from years or lute playing giving him the coordination needed.

“I like this,” Jaskier said, shifting his grip, “It feels better than just the one. Even though it’s more difficult to pay attention to two sharp things.”

“Mhhm. Glad you found something that suits you.”

“Me too.” Jaskier said, and then he bent his knees and lunged. Geralt smirked. Jaskier was clever, and he knew how to get Geralt to get his guard down. Geralt shifted his stance too, ready for Jaskier to come at him.

They were sitting on the beach, Jaskier wiggling his toes in the cold sand. The sun had gone down an hour ago, the last shreds of light still sitting on the horizon. Geralt was next to him on a log. They sat in silence, but it was comfortable. Jaskier closed his eyes and smiled.

“Jask.” Geralt rumbled. Jaskier blinked. Geralt speaking first wasn’t something he’d expected.

“Yes?”

“You were working on your song at breakfast.”

“I was.” Jaskier swallowed nervously.

“Can I hear it?”

“Oh,” Jaskier blinked again, “Oh. Um, well, it’s not quite polished, but I suppose. Let me grab my lute.”

“Wonderful.” Geralt’s face was as blank as ever.

Jaskier stood up abruptly. He tried to ground himself with the feeling of cool sand on his feet. He grabbed his lute from the house quickly and made his way back down to the beach. The sky was a black now, only indigo at the horizon. The moon was rising and the stars were out. Jaskier felt truly alive at the thought of singing to Geralt on the beach on a night like this. It made his little romantic soul so happy.

He tuned his lute absently as he walked back to the log. Geralt’s hair glowed in the moonlight. Jaskier was nervous about playing, which wasn’t something he’d felt in a long time. Not for years, in fact. His hands were shaking.

He sat down and tried to ignore Geralt’s gaze on him, which was not an easy thing to do. He took a deep breath and ran over the new lyrics in his head. He knew what to sing, he knew what chords to play. He just had to do that, and he’d be spilling his heart out to the man in front of him. He opened his eyes. It wouldn’t be too difficult. He’d spilled his heart out the night before, too. He started to pluck.

The fairer sex, they often call it

But her love’s as unfair as a crook

It steals all my reason, commits every treason

Of logic with naught but a look

A storm breaking on the horizon

Of longing and heartache and lust

She’s always bad news, it's always lose lose, 

So tell me love tell me love how is that just

But the story is this, she’ll destroy with her sweet kiss,

Her sweet kiss, 

But the story is this, she’ll destroy with her sweet kiss,

Your current is pulling me closer

I sit in the cold quiet night

The rain and the wind are screaming a warning, you fool

Better stay out of sight

I’m weak my love, and I am wanting

This won’t be the path that I’ll trudge

I gave you your sentence

But you shouldn’t pay penance

My love, I won’t be your judge

But the story is this, a quiet life with a sweet kiss

Is pure bliss

But the story is this, all i want is your sweet kiss, oh

But the story is this, a quiet life with a sweet kiss

Is pure bliss oh

But the story is this, all i want is your sweet kiss, oh

The story is this, all I want is your sweet kiss, your sweet kiss, ah oh

He let the last notes linger, echoing into the still night air. He’d closed his eyes sometime towards the beginning of the song. When he opened his eyes and exhaled, Geralt’s orange eyes were boring into him. He couldn’t read his expression. Jaskier put his lut down gently, breaking eye contact.

“I uh, changed the lyrics a bit-” Jaskier stumbled, but stopped when he felt Geralt’s palm on his cheek. He looked up.

“It was beautiful.” He whispered. Jaskier could’ve cried. There he went, getting so nervous, but of course Geralt would make him fall even deeper in love with just those words.

Geralt leaned in and kissed him softly, and Jaskier felt in his soul how he did when he first wrote the lines “I’m weak my love, and I am wanting”. Although, perhaps now he felt a little more complete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me! I appreciate everyone who's read this/commented/given kudos, you're all lovely. <3


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